It's been a week. A week since you said you were never able to fully be yourself with me. That I stifled you. That you wanted to experience the "finer things in life".
A week since I asked you to leave me alone.
You know, when we were together--inseparable--you said you were happy. That you'd never felt about someone the way you felt about me. That what we had was more real, more powerful, more than you had ever experienced. It couldn't have been more. Not if you were never fully you. Not if I stifled you. Not if I kept you from experiencing the "finer things in life". I admit, I was angry, very angry. Had I known you were trapped in a some conservative jar of my making I would have done you a favor and left. I never would you stayed another year, the year I stayed to be with you. I thought you were honest, maybe you were so stifled you didn't even realize your misery. I don't know. I'll never know.
I feel like I'm standing in the middle of a salt encrusted field caught in a perpetual wind.
